Gise tried to look at Mariya. His eyes were bulging he couldn’t turn his head. If he had seen her face, he would have witnessed the crooked smile and the gleam of satisfaction in her eyes.
She made sure she scanned the filming phone into the back seat to get Viktor’s face clearly in focus. It seemed like the struggle lasted forever, but within a few minutes, both Viktor and Mariya knew Gise was gone.
Mariya put down her phone and the silenced Makarov handgun she held in her other hand, if things did not go as planned, she would have been ready.
They both sat silent for a moment. No one else was in the parking area, so they were not rushed. Suddenly the silence was broken by the buzzing of Gise’s cell. They sat in silence until it quit as if the caller could have heard them.
Viktor was winded and was trying to catch his breath before he could speak.
When he did, all he could say was “Two to go, dear sister.”
Mariya reached in Gise’s pocket and pulled out the cell. She looked at the screen.
“Klopov,” she said.
They drove out of the lot slowly, not wanting to draw attention from the armed security that stood by the exit gate. He waved them through, and a moment later, they were out on the street heading to ul. Zemlyanoy Val. Then north onto A103. They had one more stop before they journeyed to Bogdan Gise’s burial ground.
Seven miles down A103, they were picking up a young man who would be doing all the digging. Viktor was too heavy, and Mariya had given up the hard work involved in disposing a body long ago.
Gorya Bykov was his name. He worked for Mariya doing odd jobs and watching over her girls, taking care of their basic needs while they were in her custody. She paid him next to nothing but allowed him to take favors from the girls of her choice, not his.
He was parked in a turnout off A103, in an older model Aleko Svyatogor, a rusty brown vehicle he had inherited from his father. The Pobeda pulled in behind him, and he quickly jumped out, and into the back seat next to Viktor, he smelled like cheap wine, cigarettes, and dried sweat. Viktor buzzed down his window a crack after a few minutes for fresh air. He didn’t care how cold it was.
Their destination was the isolated and heavily wooded Park Losiniy Ostrov. They left A103 and got onto smaller roads until they reached the narrow and straight Road Proseka Bumazhnaya. They traveled in about five miles until they got to a dirt track off to their right. Mariya pulled into it about twenty-five yards.
Gorya got out, and Mariya popped open the trunk. Gorya grabbed the shovel and the “kit” and went to Gise’s door.
“Viktor, help him,” she said angrily.
Viktor slowly got out and stepped next to Gorya as he opened the door. Gorya spread out the plastic tarp next to the car and pulled the body out onto it.
The next steps were important, and Mariya watched the two men intently as they began to pull all the belongings Gise had on him out of his pockets and place them in a small bag next to the body. He also had on a Rolex knockoff and a gold chain around his neck. Gorya took off Gise’s gloves. There was a ring on his left hand that he struggled to remove.
After a few seconds, Mariya shouted, “Cut the damn finger off.”
Gorya pulled out his knife, and with some effort, he finally removed the finger, and the ring slid off the cut end. Viktor then grabbed a larger bag, and they began removing all the clothing, shoes first. They had Gise stripped down to his underclothing.
Viktor placed both bags in the trunk then closed it. He threw the shovel on top of Gise’s body.
“You get the heavy end,” he told Gorya.
Both men grabbed the tarp from the ends.
Mariya called out, “See you in sixty minutes. Can you get this done by then?”
“Da, see you then.”
Viktor closed the door, and both men started to drag the body deeper into the woods.
Mariya drove off, leaving Bykov and Viktor to finish the job. She would drive through the park to its far end and circle its perimeter until it was time to return to pick them up. At this time of night, she was certain she would not see any other vehicles, at least that was her hope.
In about an hour, she returned to the spot. Both men came out of the woods. Gorya carrying the shovel and tarp, his hands and pants were stained with the black earth from the grave, Viktor was clean.
“Get the sheet out of the trunk and put it on my back seat and remove your shoes,” she barked at Gorya. “I don’t want that dirt ruining my seats.”
He did as she asked.
They headed back to Moscow. Mission accomplished.
Chapter 8
I had fallen asleep in Mike’s recliner. There was a woven wool blanket that I had covered myself in. I was so exhausted physically and mentally I didn’t wake up once during the night. A half-empty bottle of tequila and a coffee cup on the table next to my chair were reminders of what induced my deep slumber. Winslow was lying by the front door.
My failure to load up Mike’s airtight and keep the fire going allowed the cold morning air to invade every inch of Mike’s house. I raised the recliner, got up, and with the blanket still around my shoulders, began the same ritual I had done the night before getting a fire going.
After the fire was lit, I sat back down and began to reflect on the events of the previous day. I picked up Mike’s letter from the end table and reread it. A little headache throbbed as I tried to focus on his words. My mind made a list as I read.
I needed to talk to Mike’s doctor. I hoped Rosa would know her name. I needed to talk to his lawyer, Reed, Mike called him. But most important, I needed to find out who Mike was getting his pain medications from. My way of thinking, those drugs had altered Mike’s mind and probably led to his suicidal thoughts. In my way of thinking, whoever was supplying Mike, those drugs contributed to his death.
In my way of thinking, that person or persons needed to be held accountable through the legal system or through the justice system I learned to employ in Alaska.
After breakfast, I walked out to the barn. A cup of coffee in hand, I found Mike’s Land Rover covered with a fitted car cover. I lifted the back half, looked at the plates, and as I expected, the stickers were current. I uncovered it and saw the keys in the ignition. I got in and started it. The tank was full. Even with all he had on his mind, I knew he did this for me. I shut the engine off and climbed out.
I scanned the rest of the interior of the barn. There was a small Mahindra tractor in one corner, a workbench that spanned two sides and a variety of tools and storage closets. Everything a person would need to maintain a small ranch like Mike’s.
I walked out into the center of the yard. The temperature had risen to forty-one degrees. There were clouds to the west, but the rest of the sky was clear and blue. I took a deep breath and just stood listening to a scattered array of birds, some close and others in the distance.
A peace came over me. I knew what I had to do. I would stay in Questa until all my questions were answered, and I avenged my good friend’s death. I looked for Winslow. He had probably taken off somewhere, chasing rabbits or squirrels.
At 0817 hours, my cell phone buzzed. Unknown Caller, the screen said.
I answered, “Hello.”
A female voice asked, “Mr. Jason.”
“Rosa?” I answered.
“Yes, this is Rosa.”
“How are you doing?” I asked her.
“Still